


Arcade Complex

by saltslimes



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sort Of, every fandom needs This generic sickfic, rated M because i said some Awful things, unky Dante
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltslimes/pseuds/saltslimes
Summary: Nico tempts fate so hard it has actual real-life repercussions. Dante is absolutely useless as a caregiver. Nero is Nero.





	Arcade Complex

**Author's Note:**

> to anyone who's following me as in saltslimes, where have I been?!? don't remember! it's been a time. I finally got this into something I felt like posting.
> 
> to experience this fic as intended you should read it while listening to ["Juice"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaCrQL_8eMY) by Lizzo on repeat.

Nico could hum along with anything. A song she’d never heard, live music, the rattle of the van’s engine. She didn’t calm down, either. There were two modes of Nico: Nico and Off. She drummed her fingers on the wheel and flicked her cigarette butt out the window. Nero sighed, trying to stifle a cough.

“You still grumpy about something? You gotta cheer up! At least a smile.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you even know how to smile? I’m not convinced.”

“I know how to smile, I just don’t want to right now.” Nero folded his arms over his chest, and then unfolded them out of fear that it made him look childish. Nico snorted. The van thundered hard over a pothole, with enough force that Nero almost hit his face on the dashboard.

“Are you actually trying to kill me?”

“I’m raising awareness about seatbelts,” Nico said, with faux-sheepishness. Nero refused to laugh. She’d think she won. She fumbled around in the cup holder between them until her fingers found the top of the energy drink. She popped it open one-handed and neon green liquid leaked over the top into the cup holders.

“This is why the van is always sticky.”

“I don’t see you cleaning it.”

“That’s because you’re always drunk or sleeping when I clean it.”

“Whatever.” Nico took a long swig and then held the can out for him. He accepted it and took a sip.

“Still tastes like battery acid.”

“I always pick the best of the best!”

Nero put the can back in the cup holder seconds before Nico slammed on the brakes. He had to actually brace himself with an arm to avoid getting romantic with the dash.

“What the fuck, Nico?”

“We gotta get lunch. I’m starving.”

“And?”

“And check it,” she said, and without any further explanation pulled a u-turn and then into the parking lot of a seriously dilapidated diner. Nero wasn’t about to admit it, but he actually really liked greasy little places like that. Nico curbed the wheels parking, rolled back into the space, and shut the van off looking much too self-satisfied.

“You’re buying,” she said, hopping out of the van with the keys in hand.

“In what fucking world--” Nero started, but she’d already slammed the door. 

The menus were laminated, and Nero’s had a coffee stain at one edge. 

“Don’t you just love shitty coffee?” Nico said, and then covered her mouth theatrically as their server approached.

“Yeah? I don’t know.” Nero didn’t want to admit that he found coffee impossibly bitter. It tasted like dirt but worse. Their server didn’t seem to have noticed Nico’s remarks (or he did and didn’t care) and he also wasn’t one for small talk, for which Nero was eternally grateful. Nico sipped black coffee and rested her chin in one hand. She had that look. The dangerous look.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, you wanna know all about my deepest thoughts? Maybe my inner desires?”

“Gross.”

“I was just thinking how lucky you are.”

“What? How?” The sort of culty-upbringing meant that Nero didn’t really consider himself lucky. If anything, it usually felt like he got dealt a shit hand in life. And then losing an arm… etc. It felt like things started not great and just progressed to downright sucky.

“When we did that job last week. And I was sick, and everyone in town was sick, and you were just prancing around killin’ demons like you never met a germ you couldn’t kill.”

“I don’t get sick.”

“Those are famous last words.”

“No, seriously. I don’t get sick. I never have.” Nero could remember even as far back as the orphanage, having to help carry around bowls or towels when other kids were ill. Nothing ever got to him. Eventually, he’d realize that was latent demon power. But it looked like luck for a while, he supposed. He’d fall out of a tree and be uninjured, and that seemed like luck when no one knew better.

“I never say never. Except about fake nails. That’s one mistake I’m not making again.” Their server dropped off their food. The eggs had grease pooling on them. Nero half-grinned. Nico looked very smug.

“Still waiting for the day I’m wrong about something,” she said. Nero just shook his head and started eating.

[1]

Nico slammed hard on the brakes, just in time to skid to a stop before she connected with any of the walls of the alley. But also just in time to see Nero roll over the hood of a car in the street. She chucked her cigarette out the window and then followed it with her upper body.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fine, fuck off!” Nero shouted back, shoving off the car (denting the roof as he went) and swinging at the approaching demon. Nico shook her head and dropped back into her seat. She watched him cut a few more demons in half, and then went into her workshop to make finishing touches to the gun. It wasn’t a given that Dante would want to use it, but it was a masterpiece even for her. Something her grandma would definitely be proud of. She lined up at shot at the target glued to the back of the van and mimed firing. 

Something struck one of the side doors and knocked her off balance. She rolled her eyes and put the gun back in its holster (hand-made, leather, just the right mix of swagger and understated style). If Dante didn’t want it she’d sell it to Nero maybe, although he couldn’t even close to afford it. Maybe Trish would be interested. But talking to Dante was intimidating enough, forget about Trish and Lady. 

In another five or so minutes, Nero pulled the passenger door open and dumped himself into the van.

“You done?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“Mkay.” Nico climbed back into her seat and started the engine. The radio buzzed to life, squealing out a pop song that seemed just perfect to sing along to. She checked her makeup in the mirror and blew a strand of loose hair out of her face, only for it to fall right back. “You were a mess out there,” she said. “Not your best work.”

“Fuck off. That car came out of nowhere.”

“If you say so.”

Dante was as intimidating and cool as he’d been before, and Trish and Lady were, impossibly, hotter than Nico remembered. Trish was lying on a beat up couch filing her nails and Lady was reading some kind of file sitting on Dante’s desk.

“I actually said all that?”

“I can play you the message.”

“That was the night you got us kicked out of Leo’s for dancing on the bar.”

“Oh yeah.” Dante scrubbed a hand in his chin scruff, still frowning like he was trying to remember.

“You said you wanted help from… your… nephew.”

“Oh, that’s not what he said. He said: This Unky needs backup from the nephew crew,” Nico said. Trish snorted. Lady looked up in absolute delight. Dante buried his face in his hands, but he recovered in a second.

“Better than drunk-dialing an ex I guess. I don’t really need you on this though.”

“I came all this way and you--” Nero started. Trish cut him off by sitting up and tossing her nail file onto Dante’s desk.

“You were just saying you wanted extra hands.”

“I mean, I guess this job is annoying. Need to finish clearing out the old cinema so they can demolish the building.”

“That sounds like a job for Devil May Cry junior,” Nico said.

“We’re not called that,” Nero growled.

“You should be,” Lady said.

“It’s cute,” Trish said. Nico managed to drag Nero out of there before he and Dante figured out something they could fight about. She decided to save the gun for when everyone was in a better mood. Or drunk, whichever came first.

[2]

There's a limit to how much miscellaneous demon fluid you can get on you before it starts to feel like you’re having a bad day. It was soaking through his coat sleeves and he was wet up to his wrists in it--and it leaked in under his gloves--it was just bad. It felt bad. It felt like if he pissed his pants several hours ago and still hadn’t had a chance to clean it up, but as a whole body feeling.

When he came back to the van Nico was tapping cigarette smoke out the window and reading a weapons mag. She didn’t look up until he called her name.

“You done?”

“No, there’s more in the back. I busted this.” He waved the gun at her.

“I said watch the merch!” Nico hopped out of the van to take the gun back like Nero had been talking about her firstborn child. “Stop letting them knock ya around so much.”

“I don’t!”

“Yeah yeah.”

He followed her into the van and took a soda from the busted fridge. Nico had the gun apart on her work table in seconds, she was grabbing pieces from her scrap bucket when she paused, looking at Nero kind of intensely.

“What?” he had a big gob of demon snot on one shoulder, but that kind of thing never bothered Nico. She narrowed her eyes.

“You look kind of crap.”

“Well I feel like a million bucks. Can you fix my gun?”

“ _ My _ gun.”

“I pay for it, don’t I?”

She huffed but didn’t answer. After another second of staring, she turned her attention back to the gun. Nero set his can down and shook his hands out. His arms felt weirdly sore, as if he’d been hardcore training when he’d barely done any work today. When he looked up Nico was watching him again, calculatingly, tapping her wrench against the workbench.

“What? You gonna be done with that this year?”

“Hold your horses, princess.”

It still hurt. That was the wild thing. When it was a raw stump it made sense, when he and Nico were still working on getting the artificial joint, of course that fucking hurt. But the new arm hurt in mostly the same way and some different ways. The fingers would go tingly occasionally. But sometimes it just  _ hurt _ . It felt like it was torn off again. Phantom limb with the limb right there.

“No more hurting my baby,” Nico said, brandishing the gun. Nero heaved himself off the bench seat to accept it from her. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“You even smell off.” Then she gasped. “Maybe you’re getting sick! Maybe I spoke it into existence.”

“Nico, do me a huge favor and pull your head out of your ass,” Nero said, taking his gun back. And then ten minutes later he was upstairs in the abandoned building, hacking up what felt like a vital organ, one arm braced on the wall, half-dead demon still twitching a few feet away.

His heart was in his throat. Blood pounding in his ears. And his mouth tasted like sawdust, and acid under that. He fired another two rounds into the demon on the floor, and it lay still.

He stayed leaning on the wall for a while, trying to compose himself. The walkie-talkie on his hip crackled. He regretted letting Nico talk him into those. He really regretting letting Nico talk him into those.

“What?”

“You’re supposed to say I read you. You done yet? I’m starving.”

Nero stared blankly at the walkie talkie for a moment. His thoughts felt like molasses. It was cold in the abandoned cinema, and he could hear demons not far off. But they probably weren’t going anywhere.

“Hellooooo, come in Nero.”

“Yeah, let’s call it a day. Meet you out front,” he said.

[3]

One great thing about Dante’s place was the evident lack of rules, order, or proper recycling practices. Nico ashed her cigarette into an empty beer can and shovelled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. Trish was sitting on the desk in some kind of corset that  _ had _ to need tape to keep it in place, and filing her nails.

Lady was doing something with her massive gun, taking up the couch and coffee table both at once.

“Where’s your pet demon hunter?” Trish suddenly said, looking up. Nico stubbed out the butt against the side of the can and shrugged.

“Normally he wakes up at some inhuman hour to do push-ups.” As if on cue, there was a noise from the stairs.

“Where’s Dante?” she tried not to sound too eager. But when he got a look at that gun… who could say no to such a weapon? Wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house, let alone pair of underwear.

“He’s either getting pizza or killing something,” Trish said.

“Could be both,” Lady added. “But he’d better kill something today, considering how much he owes me.”

“Nico, ready to go?” that was Nero from the stairs, although his voice sounded considerably… thicker than usual. He stomped to the bottom and waved a hand through the still sinking smoke left by Nico’s third cigarette of the morning.

“You’re not gonna have breakfast?”

“What are you, my mom?”

“Better not be, considering how much you flirt with me.” Nico got up and used her boot to slide her chair back into the table. Trish and Lady were exchanging a look of some kind, but she was ready to bet it was about Nero and not her.

“Let’s go get some demons then,” she said. She smacked Nero on the shoulder on their way out, and she did not miss that he winced.

They did a solid half-hour of work. Nico was sitting on the hood of the van fixing her mascara. The walkie-talkie crackled.

“Nico?” that voice had a weird tone to it. Much more pissed than usual. Nico picked up.

“You ready to admit that your luck’s run out?”

“Yeah right,” Nero said, and then she was treated to a loud crunch as the walkie-talkie and presumably its owner hit the ground. He wasn’t that hard to find though. She blew the head off the demon that was thinking of making him a snack (no sense makin’ guns if you can’t use ‘em). He was struggling to stand, but only really getting to his knees.

Nico rested a hand on her hip and sighed.

“I feel like shit,” Nero groaned.

“It’s called being sick. Maybe quarter-demons aren’t as resilient as you thought.”

“I’m not sick.”

“Okay. We’re going back to Dante’s though, right?” Nico waited. Nero didn’t say anything. He was still half-crouched, half-kneeling, like he was about to spring into a combat stance, but instead he was just looking at the dirt like it was a sudoku puzzle he was inches away from solving.

“Well?” Nico said.

“Can you--I need you to help me up.” It was such a prime moment to make fun of him, but he honestly looked so pitiful she just hauled him to his feet (god he was heavy) and watched him stumble back to the van with the grace of a seven-year old without training wheels.

They made it almost all the way back to Devil May Cry, when Nero hit his hand on the dash and Nico hit the brakes sort of instinctively. She glanced over to ask him what the fuck, but he had a hand clamped over his mouth and he was fumbling with the door, so she quickly climbed over him and threw it open. She got away just in time to miss getting involved with the vomit spray. She tapped out a cigarette while listening to his retching and then sorrowfully put it back. Later, she thought. That one’s for later.

Everyone was home, which was great for her. She dumped Nero in the direction of the couch and asked if they had a bucket.

“I thought half demons didn’t get sick,” Lady said, moving her weapons well out of the spew-radius.

“Well he’s only quarter demon,” Trish said. She’d moved on from filing to painting her nails. Dante came down the stairs and Nico snapped her fingers at him.

“You’d know where the bucket in the house is.”

“What? Why?”

“Hey actually Nico, if you’re not doing anything with Nero today, could we get a ride to a job?” Trish asked, daintily capping her bottle of nail polish.

“Go get a bucket!” Lady said, waving at Dante. He vanished back up the stairs in bewilderment. Nero had been facedown on the couch for most of this exchange, so Nico went over and prodded him a bit. He groaned.

“Fuck off.”

“That’s what I’m plannin’ on doing, so long as you promise not to die,” she said, in probably a comforting tone. Comfort wasn’t a big feature of her upbringing. She patted Nero’s head awkwardly but he swatted her away. Dante showed up with the bucket and dropped it by the couch.

“What is he, wasted? Bit early for that.”

“It’s eleven am,” Lady said.

“Like I said, early.”

“Think he’s sick,” Nico said. Nero fumbled for the bucket and coughed puke that more resembled dirty water into it. Trish and Lady were somehow suddenly on the other side of the room.

“Well. Nico? You coming?”

“Whoa, coming where,” Dante said.

“Nico’s giving us a ride to a job,” Trish said.

“And a tune-up,” Lady added, hefting that righteous, ugly gun. Nico could feel her fingers itching already. She glanced down at the remains of Nero, sunk into the couch.

“W-well, you can’t leave. Like all of you. Someone’s gotta…” Dante gestured at Nero at large. Trish and Lady exchanged a look that might have cut solid concrete if it needed to.

“Gotta what?” Trish asked, as if totally clueless.

“Do some uncle duty?” Lady suggested. Nico’s mouth fell open, but she closed it before anyone could see.

“Yeah! Some uncle-nephew bondin’ time. Have fun!” She patted Nero on the head again, but he swatted her away. Then she bounced over to join Lady and Trish.

“Real mature guys! I don’t even get sick, what am I supposed to do?” Dante called after them.

“I hate this fucking family,” Nero groaned.

“Got a gem of a surprise for you later,” Nico said, pointing at Dante. She gave him a wink on the way out, and lit that cigarette in the van. It was all the sweeter for having waited.

“He won’t actually kill him or something, right?” Lady said.

“Nero’s pretty hard to kill,” Nico said.

“Dante’s not that stupid, he just acts like it,” Trish said.

“I mean… if you say so,” Lady said. Nico flipped on the neon and started the engine.

[4]

Dante started by calling Morrison, in what he hoped was a subtle way. But there was no answer, so he went over to where Nero was still face-down on the couch and tried to think. He hung around with humans all the time, he must have picked up at least something.

He started by prodding him in the back, which got him the finger. At least he was alive, right?

“How do you feel?”

“Shitty.”

“Huh. I really never get sick so I don’t… can’t relate.”

“I hate you and I hate your stupid office.”

“Don’t take it out on the office. You want some… water? How about some water?” That sounded right. Nero made a non-committal noise, so Dante went to get some. He had to wash a mug first, because of the state of the kitchen, but he made it back with a relatively clean cup of water. Nero was sitting up, heaving into the bucket again. Dante kicked some of the various magazines and debris off the coffee table and pulled it over so he could set the mug down. 

Then he went over to his desk to eat some old pizza, glancing at Nero out of the corner of his eye every few moments. Nero eventually put down the bucket and exchanged it for the mug.

_ Thank god it wasn’t me or Verge dealing with him when he was a kid, _ Dante thought. That thought also struck him with some kind of thick sorrow. He had a sense of wanting to reach for something, but he didn’t know what or how. He went back over and sat down on the coffee table.

“At least take your coat off,” he said. Nero started but gave up after a few seconds of struggle. Dante pressed the back of his hand to Nero’s cheek. He was hot as a freshly-fired gun. Dante cracked his knuckles before manhandling him out of his coat. He remembered the one clean blanket upstairs at the back of the linen cupboard and went to retrieve it. When he came back Nero had slumped onto his side on the couch, apparently asleep. Or dead. No, Dante checked, he was asleep.

He laid the blanket over him and went to return to his desk, but Nero moaned in his sleep. It was a noise so pitiful Nero probably would have tried to kill Dante if he knew he’d heard it. He sat down on the coffee table again and put a hand on Nero’s shoulder. The crease in his forehead eased a little.

“You’re okay. Little fucker. It’s okay. I got you,” he murmured. 

When the ladies returned, he’d dragged his desk chair over and was reading a magazine. And Nero was still sleeping off whatever virus was so bold as to take on Sparda’s kin. Dante pressed a finger to his lips, and Lady and Trish shot each other a look that was much too smug and satisfied. But Nico just rested her hands on her hips and beamed. Then she tiptoed over to Dante’s side and leaned down to whisper to him.

“I made you a gun. You’re gonna just cream your leathers when you see it,” she said. Dante choked on nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang on [tumblr](https://saltslimes.tumblr.com/) if u like
> 
> sorry for no beta (although my hero pal babbyspanch did check the front part for me)


End file.
